413 Book(s) Related to diez famosa novela de agatha christie

I am Elara Sterling, the only pureblood heir to the Blood Moon Pack. My birthright is the most resource-rich territory on the continent and the Alpha title.

My mother, fearing the crown would break me, adopted and trained three elite warriors to be my chosen mate candidates. She announced it to the Pack Council: whoever I marked would share my throne.

But behind closed doors? They hated my Alpha blood. They refused my bond, flocking instead to Chloe—a weak, low-ranking Omega, and the daughter of our pack's caretaker.

"Your bloodline doesn't mean you can force a bond!" they sneered. "Chloe is the perfect mate. You? You aren't even fit to grovel at her feet."

Fine. They broke my heart, so I froze it over. I turned my back on them and signed a mating contract with the Royal Pack. I was going to marry Lucian Blackwood.

Yes, he was the Alpha King's heir. And yes, a border war had put him in a vegetative state five years ago. But I'd rather tie my soul to a comatose wolf than beg three parasites to love me.

The kicker? The moment the mating edict was announced, the three warriors who threw me away completely lost their minds.

When my mother-in-law and I went undercover on our own yacht, a woman in a bikini pointed at us and screamed, "Broke trash!"

She ordered the bodyguards to throw us into the sea.

"This is the VIP section! You freeloading scum snuck on board for free food and drinks—get lost!"

She pinched her nose, looking at my mother-in-law and me with complete disgust.

I said coldly, "This is a public area. We have the right to be here."

"Public area?" She burst into shrill laughter, dripping with arrogance. "Do you even know whose yacht this is? My boyfriend's! The most powerful man in this city!"

Victoria and I exchanged confused looks—this yacht, the Poseidon, was clearly being managed by my husband Alexander.

When did he become someone else's boyfriend?!

"@everyone: Nina is stranded at the downtown bar in this blizzard. Ella, your brother drives an SUV, right? Have him go pick her up ASAP!"

In my last life, I caved. I read the Slack message from Duke, my boss and fiancé, and sent my brother out into the storm. That single mistake cost Jeffrey his life. He was beaten to death in jail over a rigged rape charge. Meanwhile, Duke stole my inheritance. He locked me in a psych ward, leaving me to swallow a fistful of pills.

Now, I open my eyes. I stare at the exact same glowing notification on my screen. I smirk. I swipe it away. Then, I lock my brother safely in his room and turn on his Twitch stream.

You want a scapegoat to cover up your cheap office affair, Duke? Not tonight. Enjoy the storm. This time, you and Nina are going down together.

"Are you really going to mark Lyra?" his Beta asked.

Alpha Cole laughed. "I have to. The Alpha King wants an excuse to wipe us out. Marking his precious daughter buys us immunity."

"What if she finds out Thea is carrying your pup?"

"Lyra?" Cole sneered. "She's pathetic. She's so obsessed with me, she'll swallow her pride and share my bed just to keep the Luna title. She'll protect Thea just to make me happy."

I stood outside the door, holding my wedding dress. Five years of loyal service to him, reduced to a joke.

I ran blindly into the woods and got ripped apart by wild rogues. But when I woke up in the pack hospital, the Moon Goddess had done me a massive favor.

I remembered my friends. I remembered the pack. But I completely forgot Cole. I had no idea who he was, and I had zero memory of ever loving him. My brain just deleted the guy.

Since I felt no attachment to this place anymore, when my adoptive dad, the Alpha King, called to offer me a real Royal Match in the capital, I said yes instantly.

My chopper leaves in seven days.

Cole thinks he still has a desperate dog on a leash. He has no idea the girl who loved him is already gone.

Five years ago, on my wedding day, my fiancé Vincent fucked my best friend in the bridal suite.

Five years later, I returned to New York with my husband—the most powerful Mafia boss in Naples. At Atelier Milano, my former best friend Bianca circled my custom gown like a vulture, pestering the staff about meeting the legendary Mrs. Salvatore.

She had no idea the woman she pitied as a pathetic nobody was the very person she was dying to impress.

Because of his grandfather's dying wish, Supreme Court Chief Justice Garrick Vance—the most powerful beast-shifter in the city—was forced to marry me, a human court clerk who had secretly loved him for years.

For six years we pretended to be strangers at work while he remained ice-cold toward me and our daughter Wren at home. When his celebrity ex-girlfriend Seraphina returned from overseas, I watched him come alive for another woman—attending her parties, rushing to her side at midnight.

Meanwhile, our five-year-old daughter waited every night for a father who never came home.

The day Wren nearly died from his careless gift, I finally signed the mate bond dissolution papers.

This time, he's lost us forever.

"Arthur, please! Send someone to Black Forest—Noah's been taken by rogue shifters! They'll kill him!" I hit the marble floor hard, blood trickling from my forehead.

My mate, the most feared enforcer in this territory, couldn't be bothered. He was too busy looking for his lover's precious pet.

"Eve, you're sick—lying about our kid to get attention?" He gestured dismissively. "Throw her in the cells until she stops this bullshit."

He locked me up all night.

Next morning, he let me out, figuring I'd gotten the message.

He didn't know that thirty minutes ago, the gate guards brought a blood-soaked box.

Our son's head was inside.

In this house, my son isn't allowed to call his father "Papa."

Vincenzo Marchesi is a mafia Don. He doesn't do fatherhood. He didn't even look at Leo the day he was born, simply because he never wanted us. He forces the boy to exclusively call him "Sir."

But tonight, Vincenzo broke his own rules. He stumbled through the door, chuckled, and scooped Leo into the air. "Mama, look!" Leo gasped, his eyes lighting up. "Why is Sir so happy?"

I walked close enough to smell the whiskey. But beneath it was the sickeningly sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Isabella's perfume.

His first love—the woman he actually wanted to marry—was back.

I pulled Leo out of Vincenzo's arms. Vincenzo didn't even try to stop me. He just rubbed his temples and walked past us to his bedroom.

"Sir is happy because a very special woman came back to town today," I said, putting both hands on my son's shoulders. "He finally got what he wanted. We have to pack, Leo."

Leo furiously wiped his tears away with his sleeve. He stood perfectly still before looking up. "Mama, can I give Sir three more chances before we run away?"

"Yes," I answered.

I will let Vincenzo have his three chances. But once my son's heart is completely broken, we will walk out the door.

I ripped out half my heart for him.

Literally.

Six years ago, Draco—the Black Dragon Lord—was dying on the battlefield, enemy claws buried in his chest. So I tore myself open and shoved half my witch's heart into his body to save his life.

After that, I lived with constant pain, my magic drained to nothing. I fought his wars, nearly died a dozen times, all while waiting for him to keep his promise—that he'd make me his queen after the coronation.

But on coronation day, Draco brought back the half-elf Ivy and told me to give up my crown.

Why? Ivy stayed with him in the Abyss for three years. And now she was pregnant with his child.

It destroyed me. So I drank the Oblivion Potion—the one thing that could strip away every ounce of love I had for him.

And in three days, I'm leaving for the polar regions to marry into the Silver Wolf Clan.

My son Emery scored a perfect SAT and got early admission to MIT Physics. Eighteen years old. His future was limitless.

My billionaire husband Reid's assistant—his mistress in everything but name—suggested Emery attend some garbage local business school instead. Inherit the empire. Fall in line.

Emery said no. Reid exploded.

He locked my son in the lumber yard and ordered him to split five tons of oak. "No water until he's done. That'll teach him respect."

The sun was brutal. My son's asthma attacked. I knelt before Reid's mistress and begged for his inhaler while Reid crushed my right hand—my surgeon's hand.

I got the inhaler and ran back as fast as I could.

But I was too late. My son was already dead.

My parents ruined my wedding six times.

Every single time, right at the moment the ring was about to slip onto my finger—the first time, Mom knocked over the champagne tower. The second time, Dad drove his pickup truck straight through the floral arch... Either the groom wasn't good enough, or the wedding was too cheap. Each time was more batshit crazy than the last. The sixth time, Mom even held a knife to her own throat, threatening me not to put on the ring.

It made no sense to me—why push me to get married while doing everything to stop me from wearing that ring?

So for the seventh wedding, I chose a small chapel in a remote mountain area, went completely off-grid, dead certain they'd never track me down.

Just as Ethan was about to slide the ring onto my finger—

The chapel doors burst open.

Two figures stumbled in, gasping for air, faces streaked with tears.

My parents.

My family used me as bait to destroy my sister's happiness.

The plan was simple: fake being poor, watch my sister's construction worker boyfriend run when times got tough, then reveal the truth and break her heart. I was supposed to be the convincing proof of our "poverty."

But I didn't know I was acting. For ten years, I lived their lie for real. Starved while they feasted in hiding. Worked myself to the bone while they watched me suffer.

Then I got my dream job and burst through the door to save everyone—only to find my sister's engagement party in progress.

But she'd dumped the construction worker for a tech mogul. "Maya's suffering was so authentic," she laughed to her guests. "It showed me exactly what I'd become if I stayed with Jake. Thank God I came to my senses."

My pain was her wake-up call.

On our seventh anniversary, Jeffrey brought his mistress home for dinner.

Calla wore my dead mother's necklace and called me a "boring housewife" while I cooked for them. Jeffrey laughed, saying I was lucky he kept me around since I'd never contributed anything to our marriage.

What he didn't know? I'd given up my six-figure tech career to nurse him back from his car accident. Sacrificed everything while he treated me like his personal servant.

For seven years, I endured his cheating and cruelty, thinking love meant sacrifice.

I was wrong.

When I left him the divorce papers, Jeffrey screamed that I'd come crawling back within a week.

But when I never came back, he was the one who lost his mind.

"Pay us five million dollars, or I'll tell the world your son is a rapist."

That was the blackmail demand my new neighbor threw in my face. When I refused to pay, she took me to court.

Now, we are in a packed, live-streamed courtroom. Her daughter is crying on the witness stand in a neck brace, swearing my "heavily-muscled" son brutally attacked her in the backyard. Her sleazy lawyer is waving a fake DNA match at the jury. Protesters are screaming my name. My company’s stock is tanking.

They think they’ve backed a wealthy CEO into a corner.

But they were too stupid to check who actually lives in my house.

They want to meet the monster they accused? Fine. Let's see their faces when he walks through those doors.

At the Academy's Beast Hunt Competition, I killed a high-tier Shadow Wraith and carved out its core.

My sister Seraphine stole it and claimed first place.

That core eased the brutal dragon prince Draven's chronic migraines. He demanded to marry the mage who presented it.

My fiancé Kelvin soul-bound himself to Seraphine overnight to "save" her. Done deal.

Someone had to fulfill the dragon marriage contract. That someone was me.

Seraphine draped herself over Kelvin, smirking. "Sister, your fiancé's MINE now. Draven arrives in three days—better find some random dragon to marry, or he'll tear you apart."

I looked at her smug face and smiled slowly.

"What makes you think I won't marry him?"

My water broke on the coldest night of winter.

My fated mate, Alpha Cassian, wrapped silver chains around my wrists and threw me into a freezing dungeon.

"Lucian's son must be born first," he snarled, forcing wolfsbane down my throat as I screamed through contractions.

Above me, his sister-in-law Sienna rested in silk sheets, surrounded by healers and warmth. She was carrying his dead brother's heir—the future of the pack. And I? I was nothing. Just the Omega he'd been forced to mark, the one his pack blamed for Lucian's death.

As silver burned through my skin and ice water rose past my chest, I felt our baby's heartbeat flutter. Then slow.

"Please," I begged. "Our child—"

"You owe him this," Cassian said coldly.

When the chains finally came off, he'd lost us both for good.

In my last life, Natalie insisted on stepping out of the car to feed a wild grizzly.

I tried to stop her. Daniel shoved me into the bear's path instead — to save her.

The grizzly's teeth tore through my throat. My blood sprayed hot across the snow.

And there was Daniel, my boyfriend of three years, holding Natalie close. Not a scratch on her.

He even raised his phone to film me being ripped apart, then posted it on TikTok with the caption: "She gave her life to protect us." The donations poured in for weeks.

Now my eyes are open again. Natalie's pushing the car door open, sandwich in hand, ready to hand-feed the cubs.

This time, I don't scream. I don't stop her.

I just watch her lean halfway out the door — and lock it behind her.

Three years ago, I nearly died giving birth to my son.

My husband Elias wasn't by my side—he was outside, ready to rip my baby from my arms and hand him to his dead brother's widow.

"We owe her this."

As I screamed and bled, Elias made his decree: "Aria stays away from the boy. She comes near him, she gets the silver whip."

They gave my son to Vivienne. I wasn't even allowed to see his face.

For three years, I tried everything to reach him.

Scaled walls—got twenty-three scars across my back. Snuck in as a maid—starved for seven days. Crashed his third birthday—thrown in ice water until I couldn't feel my legs.

Every time, worse punishment. Elias started looking at me like I'd lost my mind.

Then yesterday, fire ripped through the house. Flames swallowed the nursery.

Everyone screamed, including Vivienne—but she didn't move.

Only I ran in.

I pulled Asher out, barely breathing.

When he woke up, he shoved me away and clung to Vivienne, sobbing: "Mommy! She's here again! Make her GO! You said she'd leave if I was good!"

Three years of lies had erased me completely.

I dropped to my knees, voice breaking: "Call me 'Mom' just once. Then I'll disappear forever."

On my anniversary flight to New York, fate sat my cheating husband's mistress right beside me.

Alice spent the entire trip gushing about "her Daniel" while wearing the sapphire ring he'd called "too vulgar" for his wife—me.

"She's so pathetic," Alice laughed, describing how Daniel planned to dump his "clingy" spouse. "Good riddance!"

If only she knew his "pathetic" wife was the billionaire secretly bankrolling his success.

At JFK, Daniel threw money at my feet and told me to disappear.

I smiled, dialed my investment firm, and watched his face crumble.

"Hello, darling. Your sugar mama just quit."

My fiancé has tried to kill me seventeen times.

Everyone says I'm cursed by the Moon Goddess. Five years, seventeen mating ceremonies—all ending in blood.

An eagle's talons through my spine. Poisoned wine that stopped my heart. Ritual flames that charred my skin. Each time, I survived. Each time, Kael Silverblade held my hand and swore it was fate's cruelty, not his.

I believed him.

Until the seventeenth time.

Blood moon. Three assassins. Nine bone blades cutting precise lines across my body—missing every vital organ, maximizing the pain. I writhed on the sacred stones, screaming until my voice broke.

Three days later, still wrapped in bandages, I heard him talking to his lieutenant outside the healing den.

"Lord Silverblade, she almost died this time. Maybe we should—"

"No." Kael's voice was ice. "Her brother saved my life. My grandfather swore a blood debt—a mating bond to repay it. But goddammit, I love Vira. I've always loved Vira. Not her."

Silence.

"Keep the accidents coming," he said. "As long as she won't let go, we keep going. She'll break eventually. She has to."

I pressed against the wall, tears streaming down my face.

Seventeen times. Not curses. Not fate.

Him.

The male I'd loved since I was sixteen.

But here's what Kael doesn't know—this time, he finally wins.

I won't survive the next full moon.

Six months ago, a deadly dose of ricin was secretly dropped into my drink. The toxic substance has been relentlessly destroying my body ever since, and my time is nearly up.

Today, my physical strength has completely faded, leaving me with only seventy-two hours to draw breath.

On the brink of my impending death, I gave in and consented to give my remaining kidney to my sister. Overflowing with joy, my fiancé pledged on his allegiance to our crime family that he would spend his remaining days making amends to me.

When my sister faced trial before the mob council for embezzling millions from our illegal bank accounts—a scheme she executed using my financial blueprints—I stepped into the chamber and took full responsibility for the crime.

My parents offered warm smiles, expressing relief that I had finally grown into a dutiful daughter. Through their eyes, I have at last become the ideal soldier and bride for our family.

So why will they be weeping uncontrollably when they stand over my icy, lifeless body?

The night before our engagement party, my fiancé gifted me a million-dollar yacht—with another woman's name carved on the hull.

Not mine. "Serena"—his first love, the one who got away.

Five years of patience. Five years of sacrifice. And this is what I get?

"Stop overreacting," Austin said without a hint of shame. "She's severely depressed. I'm just trying to comfort her."

Comfort her? What about me?

When Serena tried on what should've been my wedding dress, when Austin demanded I "be the bigger person" yet again—I finally snapped.

I threw the engagement ring. It cracked against his face.

Austin's hand shot up in fury.

The door exploded open.

Julian Cross—New York's most dangerous billionaire—stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm.

"You dare lay a hand on my woman?"

At my seventh wedding, they replaced me.

The Oracle pointed at me and screamed one word: "CURSED."

Father's hand cracked across my face. Mother tore the wedding dress off my body and shoved my cousin Seraphine into it.

"She'll marry him instead," Father said. "You'll destroy us all."

What they didn't know? A thousand years ago, our family made a blood pact with the Shadow Lord himself: if the eldest Ashford daughter remained unmarried on her twenty-sixth birthday, she belonged to HIM.

Today was my twenty-sixth birthday.

I begged Julian to run. "Please. We have until sunset."

He laughed. "The Shadow Lord's a fairy tale, Anna. Seraphine's just going through the motions. You're being dramatic."

Then he told my parents everything.

They locked me in the tower.

But the Shadow High Priest's warning was clear—at sunset, the Shadow Lord would come. And when he did, I'd drink the Potion of Forgetting and lose everything.

My memories. My name. My soul.

The clock struck five.

He was coming.

"Sign the Brooklyn house over to Isla. I'll cover your tuition next semester."

Gabriel didn't look up. Just sat there in his leather chair like he was doing me a favor.

My mother grabbed my sleeve. "She has depression, Rachel. She just needs a studio. Why are you making this so hard?"

I looked at her, then at him. That house was the only thing my father left me when he died. The only thing. And my stepbrother was sitting in his leather chair, offering me a trade like it was nothing.

"That house is the only thing my father left me," I said. "You know that."

Gabriel finally looked up. "I know. Sign anyway."

My mother tightened her grip on my sleeve. I shook her off.

"Give me the pen."

I signed. Grabbed my suitcase — packed for three days — and walked out.

I had nowhere to go. I didn't care.

My fiancé was going to humiliate me at our own wedding.

I know because I heard him think it.

I'm Isabella Rossi — mafia heiress, future bride to Lorenzo Falcone, the golden boy of New York's underworld. Our marriage was supposed to unite two empires.

I also have a secret. I can read minds. But only when people want to use me, hurt me, or destroy me.

Lorenzo's thoughts had been silent for three years. I thought that meant he loved me.

The night before the wedding, I finally heard him. The mistress he'd planted in the crowd. The fake pregnancy reveal. The plan to humiliate me at the altar so he could play the victim — and steal my family's power in the chaos.

To marry Damian Thorne, I almost died thirteen times.

Over three years, I planned twelve weddings. Each one left me bleeding.

The first time: a runaway truck crashed into the bridal boutique, crushing my right leg.

The second time: the church ceiling collapsed during rehearsal, leaving me broken and bloodied.

The third time: poisoned champagne at the reception nearly killed me as I foamed at the mouth.

...

Manhattan's elite whispered that I was cursed.

But I still loved him desperately.

Until the thirteenth time. That bloody rainy night, three thugs cornered me in an alley and stabbed me seven times—two to the chest, three to the abdomen, two to the back. I lay dying in my own blood, yet somehow survived.

After I healed, I accidentally overheard Damian talking to his assistant.

"Mr. Thorne, she almost really died this time... Maybe we should stop? If your grandfather finds out..."

"We can't stop," Damian said wearily. "Her father saved my life. Grandfather is hell-bent on me marrying her. But DAMN IT, I love Selena, not her."

"As long as she won't give up, these accidents have to continue until she gets the message and leaves on her own."

I trembled as I touched the bandages covering my wounds, tears falling silently.

All these years, the man I desperately loved had been meticulously planning my death.

But he didn't know that this time, he really wouldn't have to marry me anymore.

Chase Harrington hadn't willingly spoken to me since I hit puberty and got fat.

So, when my childhood best friend actually handed me a Diet Coke on the morning of our Yale alumni interviews, I should've known it was a trap. Instead, my stupid heart fluttered. I thought he still cared.

I drank it.

When I woke up, my hair covered the hardwood floor.

Sloane Kensington, the undisputed queen bee of our school, stood over me holding scissors. "Damn, Chase. Those sleeping pills worked like a charm. Homegirl is practically bald."

I looked at Chase in disbelief.

The boy who used to promise we'd get married just checked his phone.

"Sloane lost a game of Truth or Dare," he said, sounding completely bored. "If she didn't cut your hair, she'd have to go hit on some freak on the street. Besides, it's not like you've got an image to maintain, Gwen. You're fat. It's just hair. Deal with it."

That was the exact moment the boy I loved died to me.

I didn't yell or cry. I just opened my laptop and changed my college application from Yale to Stanford—three thousand miles away on the West Coast.

I was dying, but honestly? Death felt like mercy.

As a vampire, I should have been immortal. But at six years old, I'd made a deal with a demon, gambling my fate on "true love"—if three times I failed to win the heart of the one I loved, the demon would claim my soul.

Just when I thought death was certain, I got pregnant. Morag, the demon, showed rare mercy, promising to wait until I gave birth.

But at eight months, my husband sneered about removing the "bastard." My brother didn't even flinch as he sliced open my belly. My parents cursed that I deserved it—all to save my sister Lycia, who'd somehow "returned from the dead."

The day they cut my child out, not one tear. Not for me.

So why, after I died, were they all on their knees at my grave, sobbing?

The tour bus hung precariously over the cliff's edge, smoke billowing from its engine. Inside, two pregnant women were trapped.

"Captain Walker, both pregnant women are in critical condition. Who do we save first?"

I had been pierced by a steel rod through my abdomen, my water had broken, and I was screaming desperately at my husband:

"Ryan Walker! My water broke! The baby's dying!"

On the other side, his first love Stella clutched her chest, her face deathly pale:

"Ryan, I'm having a heart attack! Save me!"

The man in the firefighter uniform charged toward Stella's side without hesitation.

"Captain, your wife's position is easier to reach!" team member Mike shouted.

"SHUT UP! Follow orders!"

He rushed to Stella without looking back, leaving behind one sentence:

"She won't die. I'm her husband, I take full responsibility."

When my parents forced me to donate my organs to my sister, I didn't refuse or run away. I just quietly signed the surgical consent forms, willingly giving my kidney to Vivienne, their beloved daughter.

A few months ago, my sister was hospitalized with kidney failure. The doctor said she needed a transplant. My family's first thought was me—the backup daughter they'd kept around all these years.

When my husband Allen took my hand with tears in his eyes and said, "Only you can save her," I agreed without hesitation.

When the doctor explained the surgical risks and potential complications, I smiled and nodded my understanding.

My parents said I'd finally learned what sisterly love meant.

Even Allen, who'd always been cold to me, held my hand gently and said, "The surgery's safe. You're so healthy, nothing will go wrong. When you recover, I'll take you to Hawaii."

But they don't know that no matter how the surgery goes, I won't be around to celebrate.

Because I just got my own test results—I have terminal brain cancer. I'm going to die anyway.

"Just a poor warrior girl," they laughed. Until HE showed up.

Marcus dumped me six years ago for money and status. Now he's back with his snake princess girlfriend, ready to humiliate me again. They force me to kneel, break my legs, tear my clothes—all for a stupid wedding dress.

"Your boyfriend can't save you," Seraphina hisses. "Nobody cares about trash like you."

Then the wall EXPLODES.

A massive black wolf storms in, golden eyes blazing with fury. When he shifts back to human form, every face in the room goes white with terror.

Turns out my "nobody" boyfriend is the most feared Alpha on the continent. Oops.

My boss was mid-meltdown when I started texting my online boyfriend to complain about him.

"Does anyone here actually use their brain before they submit something? This proposal is a joke. Pull this kind of crap again next week and the whole team loses their bonus — and honestly? Start updating your résumés."

Adrian's eyes moved slowly around the table. People stopped breathing.

Mine dropped too. But only so I could see my phone better.

Both thumbs flying under the table, I pulled up Ash's chat and sent the photo from last night — my legs in black lace stockings. Two messages followed.

Ash. My psycho boss just lost it again in front of everyone. I'm literally shaking. I want to kill someone.

Adrian stopped talking.

He'd been mid-sentence, tearing into the planning director, who looked one comment away from a full breakdown. Then his personal phone lit up on the table. He glanced down.

And froze.

The tips of his ears went red. Not pink — red. He flipped the phone face down so fast he nearly sent it flying, then straightened up and kept talking like nothing happened.

Too late. I'd already seen the screen.

Black lace stockings. My exact words.

My brain just... stopped.

Wait. Ash — who texted me every single night, who sent pictures of his abs when I asked, who once typed please don't be mad at me over a two-minute late reply — is Adrian?

My boss?

The man who makes me want to quit on a weekly basis?

Ten years ago, I sat in the witness stand and told the court my beloved Uncle Arthur was a monster.

My testimony sent him away for twenty years and made my father Robert a hero.

For a decade, I lived inside the perfect world my father built around me — safe and warm and suffocating. Then one afternoon, digging through boxes in the basement, I found Buster's old collar. My golden retriever. The dog I'd made myself forget.

The memory hit like a freight train.

The man in the dark had clamped his hand over my mouth, and I could smell him now — peppermint and cologne, thick and choking. I saw Buster lunge at him. Saw the man's boot connect with the dog's ribs.

But Uncle Arthur was deathly allergic to dogs. He couldn't get near Buster without his throat closing up.

If it wasn't Arthur that night — then who the hell was it?

I won the championship at the sailing regatta, only to watch my arch-rival smash my trophy into a thousand pieces.

"Sienna's nothing but a homewrecker! She doesn't deserve squat!"

Cindy—my defeated opponent—stood there in front of the entire school, accusing me of sleeping my way to the top. According to her, I'd seduced some sponsor to steal the win.

"Are you out of your damn mind? You lost. Deal with it!"

"Lost? Oh honey, that's rich coming from someone who cheated her way to the finish line!"

I almost laughed at her pathetic meltdown—until she whipped out a photo of me on a yacht.

"Take a good look, bitch! That's my father you were screwing!"

The woman in the picture? Definitely me.

The man beside me? She just called him "dad."

What. The. Fuck.

Since when do I have a goddamn half-sister?

The more I cry, the hornier my sister gets.

Not a metaphor. Stone cold reality. Me and pop superstar Melody share a sick "emotional link" — the worse I suffer, the more she glows on stage.

My husband Christian discovered this secret.

Then he chose to betray me and crawl into bed with Melody.

Now every time Melody has a big show, Christian locks me in the basement, force-feeds me depression pills, and blasts horror movies 24/7 until I'm totally broken.

My despair gets fed straight into Melody's energy, making her perform like she's possessed.

Tonight they're fucking to celebrate her win. Tomorrow's concert means draining me dry again.

Enough!

If my pain is your sex drug, I'm cutting off the supply completely.

I'm going to the medical center to freeze myself for one full year.

Let you two horny bastards screw each other to death!

"Give Lydia half your beast core blood—you owe our clan that much!"

Facing the man who wore my brother-in-law Arthur's face but carried my dead husband Carlisle's distinct scent, I didn't fight back. I let him drive the blade into my chest.

Three years married, and Carlisle died in the border beast surge. I'd tried to follow him in death so many times that grief had nearly bled me dry—only to catch him alive, faking his death so he could marry his precious sister-in-law under his brother's name.

To keep his cover, he stood by while his new woman degraded me, even forced me to sign a slave contract that stripped me of all dignity.

He thought I loved him too much to ever leave.

Until I drained every drop of blood that carried his mate bond and disappeared.

That's when this arrogant bastard finally lost it completely.

"Brielle, I need money... My bone cancer is worse. Without treatment, I won't make it past next month."

For Cole's words, I gave up everything—my billionaire father, my inheritance, my name. I became a crime scene cleaner, the most degrading job in New York.

Twenty hours a day, I scrubbed blood and rotting flesh off apartment floors. I even sold my own blood. All to save the man I loved.

One million dollars. Finally, I had it.

I rushed to the five-star hotel, clutching the warm check in my trembling hands. Pushed open the presidential suite door.

And froze.

Cole—healthy, glowing, dressed in an expensive suit—knelt before Delilah, New York's newest socialite. A diamond ring glittered between his fingers.

"Babe, that corpse-smelling idiot sent more money today," he laughed. "That bag you wanted? Let's go buy it right now."

The check fell from my hands.

Something inside me shattered.

And something darker took its place.

I've been with Nathaniel for five years. We were supposed to announce our wedding date next month.

Then he brought his "fragile" intern Lily to a Halloween escape room. When she drew the punishment straw — ten minutes in a freezing water tank — he swapped it with mine in the dark.

I have claustrophobia. I just had surgery. He knew. He didn't care.

I nearly drowned while he held her and wiped her tears through the glass.

When I woke up in the hospital, Nathaniel was gone. But Alexander Sterling was standing by my bed — the billionaire who'd been anonymously funding my gallery all along.

He offered me a contract marriage. I accepted.

Now Nathaniel's on his knees begging. But I'm already wearing another man's ring.

"Grace, your trashy mom ruined Jessica's dress. Bitch deserved to die!"

Blake stepped on the bloody corpse, shoving me down to grovel at Jessica's feet.

The bastard forgot already? My mom sold our Texas ranch to make him rich! But once he hit it big, he let his secretary Jessica beat her to death like she was some street bum.

I looked at the body wearing that emerald ring, trying to tell him the truth, but he backhanded me hard.

Then the asshole ordered her thrown in the septic tank just to kiss up to Jessica.

I wiped blood from my mouth and laughed.

Idiot had no clue—that wasn't even my mother.

My six-month business trip to Europe was finally over. I decided to surprise my husband Nathaniel by coming home early without telling him, bringing my six-year-old son Lucas straight to his newly opened upscale restaurant.

Lucas excitedly ran toward the children's play area while I scanned the restaurant for Nathaniel, eagerly anticipating our reunion.

Suddenly, a scream shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

I turned to see a woman in work uniform roughly shoving my son, snarling viciously:

"What the hell are you RUNNING around for, you little brat! Can't you watch where you're going?"

I froze. How DARE this woman treat my child like this in my husband's restaurant?

When my fiancé left me to burn alive to save his "fragile" white lotus, I thought my story was over.

But death had other plans.

Reborn with memories intact, I watched him make the same fatal choice—abandoning me in the flames for her. This time, I smiled and said, "Go save her."

Because this time, the most powerful Alpha in North America was coming for me.

Derek thought he was discarding a burden. He had no idea he was throwing away his only lifeline.

Now, as I stand beside Lucas in his billion-dollar empire, watching my ex grovel in the gutter, I have just one message: karma is a bitch, and so am I.

I've been married to billionaire Joseph Miller for three years. Pregnant three times. Aborted three times.

Every time, my husband stood outside the operating room, watching them wheel me in.

The first baby, my mother-in-law Victoria said had spinal deformities. The second, my father-in-law Richard showed a "report" claiming heart defects.

I believed them. I thought it was my fault, something wrong with my body.

Until the third pregnancy.

This time I secretly went to another hospital—DNA showed 99.9% match with Joseph, every prenatal indicator perfect.

I rushed home clutching the report, thinking I could finally save my child.

Victoria glanced at it and tossed it on the coffee table. "You are carrying a healthy baby. But the Miller family doesn't need it."

My in-laws forcibly dragged me to the clinic. I screamed to Joseph for help: "That's your child!"

His eyes were red, but he still let them kill my baby.

Desperate, I demanded a divorce. He coldly refused, tearing at my clothes: "Stop being dramatic. Time for the fourth."

I finally understood—I wasn't his wife. I was their breeding machine.

But why? Why force me to keep getting pregnant, only to kill every healthy baby?

Until that night, I pushed open the attic door that had been locked for three years—

And finally understood everything.

Seven years married. Seven years reading minds. Still ended up the biggest joke in New York's underworld.

My husband Dante—Mafia boss—put that ring on my finger thinking, "This should be Elena's."

Seven years taking bullets for him. Seven years tortured for him. All I got was his cold contempt.

Then Elena came back with a kid. I became trash.

"Victoria, you disgust me." He crushed me under his boot, had me beaten bloody—all for her.

That's when my heart died.

I didn't explain. Just watched the clock.

Three hours until the boat leaves.

Dante, we're done. Forever.

I fell in love with my stepbrother.

He chose someone else.

So I did what any smart wolf would do—I disappeared into the most brutal academy in the North, where weakness means death and emotions are a luxury I couldn't afford.

Four years later, he's on his knees outside my door, begging me to come back.

"Sia, please. I made a mistake. I need you—"

But before I can answer, a hand fists in my hair from behind. The new Alpha pins me against the wall, his cock already hard against my ass.

"You're not going anywhere," Kaelan growls, his fingers sliding between my thighs. "This pussy belongs to me now."

Cain's still begging outside.

And I'm coming apart under Kaelan's hands, realizing too late—

I never escaped anything. I just traded one obsession for another.

"Ms. Hart, I've filed to dissolve our match. I expect your cooperation."

Major General Adrian Voss stared at me. Spotless uniform. Unblinking, amber slit-pupils. He was an Alpha snake shifter, and an eighty-percent genetic match to the body I now occupied.

Beside him, his childhood sweetheart, Serena Vale, watched me eagerly. She was waiting for my hysterical, tearful breakdown.

I knew the script. I'd just woken up inside the novel Second Chance with the General as Evelyn Hart, the doomed villainess. Serena was the reborn heroine here to take her man back. If I fought for this engagement, I'd be disowned and eventually die miserably in a ditch.

A brutal fate. But as Adrian waited for my answer, I wasn't heartbroken. I was paralyzed by one horrifying detail:

Snake shifters courted their mates in their beast forms.

Holy crap! I was absolutely terrified of snakes!

After rebirth, I switched wedding engagements with my sister Maya.

In my past life, she was forced to marry the West's most ruthless Alpha—Zane Blackwood. Three years. He never touched her. His "sister" Sienna stole the Luna's position, power, dignity. Maya became a joke. No mark, no status. She froze to death on a snowy night, not even left with a complete body.

And me? Married to someone I didn't love, drifting through life in a daze. When I woke up, Maya was dead.

Then I died trying to avenge her.

After rebirth, I kicked down the door and snatched the engagement: "This time, I'm going."

Rode my bike sixteen hours straight. Got ambushed on the road—cracked skulls with a wrench. Covered in engine oil and blood, I crashed into the Black Moon engagement party.

Sienna screamed: "Psycho!"

Damn right.

I grabbed that stone-faced Alpha, ignoring his death glare, and bit into his neck in front of everyone.

"Listen up," I licked the blood from my lips, "I'm your Luna now. And if that bitch messes with me—"

I leaned close to his ear:

"You're dead first."

"Listen here, woman. Give me an heir, and I'll give you more gold than you can spend in ten lifetimes. Fail me, and I'll snap your neck myself."

The Lycan King had me pinned against the wall, blood-red eyes dead serious. I was trying very hard not to notice that his chest was about to burst through his shirt.

Here's the thing: I'm not supposed to be here. My half-blind, gambling-addicted father checked "Fertile" instead of "Fortunate" on the royal conscription form. An honest mistake — if you ignore the part where it shipped his virgin daughter straight to the most dangerous man on the continent.

I tried to explain. He didn't listen. He made me drink something black and foul called a "fertility elixir."

But what nobody in this godforsaken palace knows is that while I can't breed, I am stupidly, ridiculously, almost cosmically lucky.

Assassin slipped poison into my soup? The venom snake fell into the boiling pot first. They tried to burn me at the stake? Lightning struck the High Priest into a charcoal briquette before anyone could light a match.

And when I accidentally kicked a loose coin in the courtyard and uncovered the largest magic crystal vein in the empire — well.

Let's just say the king who once threatened to kill me is now on his knees, clutching my skirt like his life depends on it.

"Forget the heir, Elara. I just want you."

Funny how that works.

Three years ago, I married Rex Cavano—New York's most dangerous mafia don—for this face. Not for love. Because I looked like his stepsister Isabella, the woman his family tore from him and sent to Rome.

I thought time would make him forget her. Until three months ago, when she came home a widow, and I finally understood: a substitute is always just a substitute. When the original returns, the fake gets thrown away.

So I made a decision.

I tricked him into signing divorce papers and accepted a job in a war zone in Colombia.

I'm leaving. Taking our child with me—a secret he'll never know—disappearing from his world forever.

My husband Eric couldn't speak after a car accident three years ago. Three years of silence. Not one word.

To pay for his rehab, I worked four jobs at once—worked until I was coughing up blood, until I collapsed. Winter nights, Leo and I huddled under one threadbare blanket. When my son spiked a fever and I had no money for medicine, I stayed up all night pressing wet rags to his burning forehead.

Eric? His only communication was cold texts, ordering me around. When Leo reached for a hug, he'd push him away like our son didn't exist.

I endured it all. Because deep down, I believed the accident was my fault.

Until that night.

I was hauling equipment at Selena's concert—Selena, the pop star everyone knew—when a mystery guest in a mask stepped on stage. They sang together, voices blending like they'd done this a thousand times.

That voice. That lightning-shaped scar on his elbow.

My "mute" husband of three years.

I followed him backstage. Through the door, I heard Selena's laugh: "Congrats, Eric. Your mute act is almost over—you won the bet."

Three years of sacrifice.

All of it just a game. A bet with his first love.

Chloe Ashford destroyed me once.

She pretended to be my best friend, eagerly setting me up with her stepbrother Vincent—when really, I was just a cover for their twisted relationship.

She fattened me up, used me, and when she got bored, tossed me aside. A broken nose during gym class, nearly drowning by the pool, framed and cyberbullied until the whole internet turned against me. I dropped out. Had a complete mental breakdown. And then I jumped.

But when I opened my eyes again, that line was playing on repeat—"Let me introduce you to my stepbrother."

Somehow, I was back. That same party night.